I am suffering from euphorbia
which is the opposite of feverfew.
I have been given horehound and hyssop
and placed on mellow maltese crosses
which have in turn been placed on
our lady’s bedstraw to rest.
Teasel and tansy dance a rocambole around me
in order to speedwell my recovery
and to make me comfrey.
I am annointed with beebalm and glory,
clary and bugle are sounded so that
the roman wormwood which galls me
may not borage farther into my
already fragrant and decorative body.
In the shadows sweet cicely and sweet woodruff,
epicures both, wait with nepeta cataria, ready
to germander my lovage should I
fall prey to the euphorbia
which has me.
I am a long root.